Catharsis
by Saraph
Summary: The Eye of Providence has closed. Who knew that a man who had no string of life could cause the destruction of all worlds, after killing two men who simply weren't supposed to die?
1. Prologue

The veil, located deep within the Ministry of Magic, held the souls of those magical persons who passed on. It was meant to be a cathartic place, where those who had passed on could quickly make the transition on to the true afterlife. Call it what you may, Heaven or Hell, after leaving the veil, those souls went somewhere. Those wizards and witches who died were almost always meant to die, they were simply just not ready to move on. But they did, because it had been their fate since before they were born.

Millennia after millennia, as spinners of the thread of life, the Fates had never been challenged. The pawns were manipulated the way Clotho, Lachesis, and Atropos had planned. Not one living soul, muggle or magical, mortal or immortal, had ever dared try the sisters.

The sisters held lives in their hands, every single day. They appeared in maternity wards, visible to few, only to disappear for various lengths of time, appearing again at deathbeds. Forget the basis of genes and sexual reproduction, the Fates created every living thing in Earth's history.

However, there was one thing that walked the Earth the Fates did not create. There never was a thread of life for Tom Marvolo Riddle. There never should have been a Lord Voldemort, and he never should have caused the pain, and strife, and discord that he did.

Strife, and Discord... Sure, Eris had enough fun to last a lifetime. He caused more than enough trouble for one mortal lifetime, but the god of strife and discord was not mortal. Hitler was amusing, as was the Russian revolution, and the assination of "United" States President Lincoln. But every amount of trouble he caused paled in comparison to the Trojan War ages and ages ago. True, the time of the gods was far different than that of those on Earth, but being predisposed with a superiority complex caused all to have shortened patiences, and Eris suffered the most.

So he decided to impregnate a woman. A demigod had not yet made an appearance in the twentieth century, and to be technical, still had not. Eris wanted to cause all the problems... Simply being he separated himself and impregnated Merope Gaunt with himself after parading around as Tom Riddle.

Over the years spanning Tom's "lifetime" and the two wars he participated in, countless scores of wizards and witches were killed, and even almost as many muggles, before their time. The veil became crowed, for the sisters of Fate had never planned to put so many together at one time, but being beyond magical, it was never full. As time went on, those newcomers to the veil let go a little easier. They knew what the war would bring, and while never ready to die, were a little more prepared.

But there were two men in the veil that could never move on. A few years had passed, when normally souls move on within days... weeks at the most. They were destroying the veil, unraveling it at the seams. Neither men deserved to die when they did, and both men deserved redemption from the mortal world. One man, physically imprisoned for almost half of his life refused to let go. Another man, emotionally imprisoned for all of his life wanted nothing more than to move on. Yet neither could.

Confused and distraught, the Fates looked on as the unraveling of the veil unraveled the galaxies. The grieving processes mortals must go through were not taking place... People were living in denial. Mount Olympus was slowly, but surely, crumbling to pieces. Cracks in the afterlife were beginning to show, and it was all snowballing.

There was almost nothing the Fates could do. They tried everything possible to get the two men to move on, but nothing worked. Even Hades could not force or allow the two men to move on. Instead, they remained there, bickering like school boys once more. Finally, every last shred of hope diminished, the Fates... or all the gods rather, lowered themselves to talking to mere witches and wizards, hoping they knew something, could do something.

It was an act of desperation, for if they failed, everything would simply cease to be.


	2. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: Unfortunately, I own nothing. Please don't sue. You won't get much, I promise. I'm only a kid working for minimum wage.**

**A/N: It has been a long time since I've written stories, so please forgive me. Even back then I wasn't good, and now I'm trying to get whatever is left of my groove back. I don't like to have a whole story written and then post it, so if the rating changes while I'm writing this, it will change and there will be a notification in the first chapter it changes. Uh... I don't currently have Microsoft Word, or another program similar, so I'm posting this on Xanga and spell checking it. English mechanics aren't my strong point, and I'm beta-less, so if you're interested, I would only love you forever and a day. Last but not least, if you reply, say what you think. But if it's negative, please provide constructive criticism. If it's just derogatory, I will probably cry. Mkay:) **

-

Around 9 o'clock, Harry and Hermione were sitting in the Headmaster's office, much like they had done all throughout their school years. It was eerie how things remained the same, yet, everyone knew that nothing was the same anymore.

Ron, one third of the golden trio, was gone now... Possibly forever. He wasn't dead, thank goodness, but the boy everyone knew was gone. Ronald, as he now preferred to be called, was living in Romania with his brother Charlie. The war tore him up inside, and after a good many years, he just couldn't hold it in anymore. Ronald needed an aggressive occupation, but dreams of becoming an Auror with Harry had long since disappeared. Neither boy could bear to see such evil anymore, as the would the following years after the war.

Another change, possibly the most heartbreaking was the absence of Albus Dumbledore in the Headmaster's chair. His trinkets were still there glittering and enticing small first years curiosity. Minerva McGonagall, Dumbledore's deputy Headmistress, was quite the capable replacement however. Strict, yet beloved caused the children of Hogwarts to fear and respect her. However, despite her outward appearance, Harry and Hermione knew her well. Early morning tea was a right they invoked most Saturdays.

For the past two or so years, Harry and Hermione sat in the Headmaster's office every Saturday morning, and any outsider might think they were in trouble. However subdued everyone present might seem, no person was ever in trouble. No person was ever yelled at. Love, trust, and respect radiated through those stone walls, and the days of adolescent mischief had come to pass long ago.

Distracted as usual, Hermione's mind fazed from the conversation about were-dogs, to the stack of Potions 1 essays she had in her bedchambers. An up and coming Potions Mistress, Hermione went straight to teaching after finishing Hogwarts the summer after the war. Hermione attended university by owl post, taking all required tests and mailing them to her professors. Essentially apprenticing under herself, she finally finished her mastery by creating a nonaddictive sleeping draught. There were too many victims haunted by the things they had seen...

"Miss Grange?" Professor McGonagall asked, trying to get her attention. Despite how acquainted they were, Minerva was still Professor, and Harry and Hermione were still Mister and Miss. After waiting what seemed like hours for Hermione to come back to Earth, Harry decided to pummel Hermione with lemon drops.

"What the -" Hermione sputtered, cut off by McGonagall.

"Really Mister Potter! Must you always behave like a third year,?" the elder witch reprimanded, summoning all the lemon drops back to her candy dish with a quick "_Accio._"

"I'm sorry professor, I was just thinking about the essays I haven't finished yet. Really, the way these children write is abysmal. I understand why Professor Snape was so snarky."

"Really Hermione, in the two years you've been here, N.E.W.T. and O.W.L. scores have been the highest in Hogwart's history. Even better than Snape because you don't scare the poor children into submission. Between you and the professor, the ittie bittie firsties will learn to write soon enough. Stop worrying," Harry responded.

It was true. Hermione was the first Hogwarts professor of her kind. Most of the younger students, excluding some second years and the first years knew her growing up. It was almost impossible to expect them to call her Professor Granger, and Hermione always did say she felt like she was in trouble when called by her last name. Therefore, the older students who knew her on a more personal level simply called her Hermione, and the younger students called her Miss Hermione. In her first year classes, Hermione included an introductory session to muggle chemistry in order to help students fully grasp the ingredients they were working with. Most weeknights, you could find her in the library tutoring students and preparing them for exams. Hermione was indeed a miracle.

In fact, she and all the other students in her year petitioned the ministry to postpone the N.E.W.T. exams another two months until the beginning of the new term due to inadequate teaching the past year. It was thanks to Hermione that no one in her year that bothered returning to study and take their exams slipped by with anything lower than "Exceeds Expectations." Neville Longbottom, who had come a long way since first year, made a 94 percent. Truly "Outstanding."

Reminiscing aside, all three returned to the conversation about were-dogs. Buckbeak the hippogriff was gone, and Harry wanted another pet to remind him not only of his late godfather, but of Hagrid too.

"I was thinking of a thestral, but they don't really seem like good house pets. At least with a were-dog, he can remain in the house or even in the yard. And it'll remind us of Remus. I think Teddy will like that when he gets older. As a matter of fact, I need to be off soon. I promised Andromeda a few days off, seeing as you guys don't need me Monday. I have this great resizing charm I want to try out with my Storm. Teddy will be flying before you know it." Harry said, a look of glee on his face.

"It's okay Harry. I should be out patrolling, or seeing if anyone needs any extra help with their assignments. And I'm sure Professor has some paperwork or something to catch up on," Hermione said, nodding at McGonagall.

"Yes, that is true, I'll see you too out." Minerva replied as all three stood. Harry took her arm, and walked to the gargoyles next to the top of the stairs before turning around and looking at Hermione.

"What is it now, Hermione. Really, your next potion should be a cure for Attention Deficit or something."

Taking a few long strides to catch up with her company, Hermione nodded with her head down and simply sighed, saying "I know... I just could have sworn I saw the Professor's portrait move this time."


	3. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: I still own nothing. I'm still poor. I still beg for you not to sue me.**

**A/N: Some major kudos go to notwritten for being my first reviewer ever, in any of my stories. And muchos gracias [gosh I hope that was correct Spanish. I don't exactly pay attention in that class... to Literary Fantasy for subscribing or whatever, cause I think that's pretty hardcore. :)**

**I'm not exactly sure what I think of this chapter, but after procrastinating most of the day, here it is. **

-

After leaving the Headmistress's office, Hermione made her way to the library so she could take advantage of her new status and peruse the Restricted section. Well, legally peruse the Restricted section. No matter how stressful the job could be, there were definitely perks to being a Hogwarts professor. She learned more confined within the walls of the library then she ever could have at University. Much of the learning was due to the fact that as the new Potions Mistress of Hogwarts, she inherited all of Professor Snape's old books. Snape wasn't teaching at the time of his death, so the books were technically passed down to Minerva, but the woman was interested only in Transfiguration and Charms. All of the books were rare, and some actually one of a kind, so after casting some modified stasis charms, she handed them over to Hermione. Hermione read as much as she could, but her spare time much more limited than when she was a student. However, Hermione enjoyed every moment she spent reading the books and they provided many thoughtful new insights to the world of Potions. Many ideas and theories contradicted what she had learned as a student, and that morning Hermione was comparing books in the library to books in her possession for differences in the uses for Acromantula venom.

It wasn't long after, however, that a student hurried in, and needed her help. Hermione didn't mind being interrupted though. Teaching was what she lived for, as it was a combination of her two favorite activities: helping and learning. She learned to control herself from her school days, and actually helped students learn, instead of simply giving them the answers. There was nothing more beautiful to Hermione than for a child to deduce the correct answer, and her eyes always twinkled, much like Dumbledore's whenever that happened. Teaching was what Hermione lived for, because she truly realized that the children most took for granted were going to be the saviors of the wizarding world.

Together, she and Harry provided many opportunities for following generations. After creating a savings account with Gringotts to support herself in case of emergency, Hermione used any and all other residuals to create scholarships and joint potions creations with students. Harry provided a large scholarship to the 7th year Quidditch player Madam Hooch deemed Most Valuable Player. He also matched any amount of money Hermione put up in the other scholarships. By the end of her first year as a professor, Hermione had created scholarships for every subject of interest that would go to whomever the professor of the subject deemed most worthy. There was even a scholarship available for Divination, but Firenze decided who received the scholarship. Not Professor Trelawney.

Potions, however, was a little different. Instead, Hermione became an anonymous business partner with a small, independent shop in Diagon Alley. She worked with any 7th year interested, and helped them create their own potions to market. Hermione wanted the children to see what they were capable of, and also knew how hard it could be to make it in the world of Potions. The potions they created originally started off selling in Diagon Alley, but quickly dispersed worldwide. Many even made it to the windows of Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes. The students collected all residuals, and would continue to collect them for as long as their potions sold. Hermione even offered to have them apprentice under her, once they finished their masteries. In the past two years that the scholarship program had been in place, almost 50 students who could have never gone to University otherwise - muggle born, halfblood, and pureblood alike - indeed went on to pursue higher educations and become better wizards and witches then they could have been otherwise.

The student who met Hermione was a similar student, a 7th year Hufflepuff by the name of Breeanan Starkley. Breeanan was the half-sister of a boy in Hermione's class, Blaise Zabini. Blaise Zabini and his mother, both pro-Slytherin, denied the young girl after she was sorted into Hufflepuff. The second day of school in her first year, Breeanan received a Howler notifying her that she would no longer be welcome at home and that there was a place for her at her paternal grandparents home in Romania. After her father's death, shortly before she was born, Breeanan's mother cut off all ties with her deceased husband's family. Breeanan's paternal grandparents were pureblood, but much like the Weasleys. They didn't have an immense fortune to speak of, and any money they might have inherited after their son's death was greedily taken by their daughter-in-law. The only way Breeanan could secure a seat in University was to work her own way through, and Breeanan rather liked the instant gratification she got when making an advancement in her work.

Seeing the girl's diligence, and being reminded of her own self when she was younger, Hermione offered to go through the Restricted section, and her own personal library to check and see if there were any notes that might help Breeanan's project. As much as she begged and pleaded with the Headmistress, scholarship applicants were still denied access to the Restricted section. Some things would never change. Thankfully for Hermione, she had modified the Summoning Charm to help her find information in a book. So she worked on, through the night. She missed the evening meal, and worked on past the student's curfew looking for answers. Unfortunately, none of the books in her grasp had the needed information to continue with the potion Breeanan was working on. So after slowing making her way to her quarters near the dungeons, Hermione wrote up a permission slip for she and Breeanan to visit and use the University library in London, next Hogsmeade weekend.

Not bothering to change into her nightie, Hermione let down her mass of curls and fell onto the bed. It was around 3 in the morning when Hermione finally quit for the day. Thank goodness it was 3 on a Sunday morning, so she could sleep in. There would have been no way she could teach her morning classes if it had been a school day.

Around 6:30 in the morning, deep in REM sleep, Hermione's dreams reappeared. The only way she didn't dream was if she took a sleeping draught, and her main reason for creating the nonaddictive sleeping draught was because Poppy refused to allow her to take anymore, and warned the Headmistress of Hermione's increasing level of addiction. But this dream wasn't like her others... Granted, it was extremely strange, and it was frightening, but it wasn't a nightmare.

Hermione was in Egypt, she knew because of the geography, and because she remembered looking through all the Weasley's photo albums of their family vacation. In her dream, Hermione turned around against the wind so the sand would no longer sting her eyes. She could then see the Pyramids of Giza. Above the largest pyramid was a large eye, much like the one of Ra. Not exactly, but almost. It was a large eye, with a gray-green iris. Hermione felt the need to cover up, as if it could see right through her, as if it could see through everything. The eye looked sad, there were hidden shadows behind it. It blinked, to stave off the large tear welling up in the corner, but the tear continued to fall. As gravity pulled it farther toward the Earth, Hermione watched the water droplet fall, and as soon as it hit the tip of one of the pyramids, everything disappeared. Hermione tried to look around, and saw nothing. It wasn't nothing in the sense that the pyramids were gone, and there was only dust... There was literally nothing. All around her, she saw white. It was almost like she was in an asylum of some sort, except there were no walls. There was no ceiling. Frightened, Hermione ran and ran. It seemed like she ran for ages, and ages. She ran until she couldn't run anymore. Collapsing, she tried to call out, but nothing would come. She tried again, and again her voice was nothing. She tried to bring her hand to her face, to wipe the tears she felt, but she had no hands. And she tried to get up, but she had no legs. She had become nothing, and all of a sudden, everything was black. There was no more.

Hermione awoke to Harry and Professor McGonagall shaking her. It was 12:30 in the afternoon and she was still asleep in bed drenched in sweat.


	4. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: Still poor. Don't sue.**

**A/N: Before, when I asked not to leave mean reviews, I lied. Be mean, I don't care. Okay, maybe I do... But I just want you to reply. Pleaseee. :)  
And if I don't update for a while, it's because I have 2 finals and 5 midterms within the next three days.  
**

-

"It was the weirdest thing, Albus. I've never seen her act like that. And the worst part about this whole situation, is that in our world, one never knows if a dream is simply a dream, or if it could be something more." Still worried about the Gryffindor princess, the Headmistress sat wringing her hands in her office, talking with her former superior and long time friend. "There's no sign from the Haven, so we can't tell whether or not she's been visited by an Oracle."

"Maybe, Minerva, it was just a dream. It happens, you know. Strange dreams and night terrors." Dumbledore smiled from inside his portrait. After his death, it took a long time for him to wake up, but it seemed he never went to sleep again afterwards.

"I wish it was that easy Albus. I was talking to Poppy, and she is a muggle-born, you remember. Well her parents were muggle psychologists. According to muggle science, there are 5 stages of sleep. Hermione shouldn't have remembered her dream if it was a true night terror. And she did remember. She told us in intricate detail. It would have been different if she just woke up scared, and then later had an irrational fear of pyramids. And the Eye of Ra? This muggle scientist, Sigmund Freud, he says that dreams are a path way to the subconscious. He says that dreams are repressed thoughts. But what could she have repressed? I just wish we could know. Legilimens can only take a person through the memories, not through the hidden mind. I'm sure if Severus were still here, he would know some kind of potion, some kind of something to use... to do." She said the last bit with a sigh, looking forlornly at the empty portrait.

"I hate to tell you, dear, but Sigmund Freud was no muggle scientist. He was muggle-born, and an accomplished legilimens. He attended a very small wizarding school that was only open a few years, before moving on to secondary education away from the wizarding world. He could have been another Tom Riddle, such a strange boy. He looked through people's memories to manipulate them. He successfully managed to allude both Austrian and German Ministries of Magic for several years. He grew paranoid in his old age, much like Moody was. It's why he killed himself. Unfortunately, most of his theories are based off the delusions of a sick man."

"So, what do we do? I know, you probably think I'm silly, but I'm scared. I just can't shake the feeling that there really is something wrong. I know this isn't just a dream, Albus. I know it." Minerva buried her face in her hands, a true act of desperation. "I think I'm going to my quarters now," she said, looking at the old Grandfather Clock on the wall. "It's early, but I have some thinking to do."

However, before she could wallow in her self-worry, Professor Flitwick hobbled in as quickly as his short legs would take him. His voice squeakier than normal and his night-gown swishing around him, there was a frightened look on his face. "Minerva! You must come quickly! I need you now, in my chambers. You come too, Albus."

"Filius, I must ask you not to make demands of me. Please, can I come in the morning?" Even more worried, McGonagall just didn't think she could live through the night if Professor Flitwick's problem was as big as he made it seemed. She could feel a stroke coming on.

"Shut up you old broad, and meet me at my rooms. Now!" Filius Flitwick was not an angry man. He was not known for name calling, either. He might have been an accomplished dueler, but this was not the same Charms Professor that cried when Ginny Weasley disappeared in her first year at Hogwarts.

"Filius Flitwick! We may be friends, but that does not mean you can take liberties with my generosity. I am still your superior, and you would to well to remember that. I will speak with you in the morning."

"Minerva, go. Please, just go. There's got to be something wrong. I'm sure the Professor will explain it all to us when we get to his rooms." Dumbledore was frowning. He never frowned. The twinkle in his eye was significantly duller. To the tiny, frustrated man, he said "Filius, I hope you don't mind, but I'm going to get Miss Granger. I have a feeling she might be of assistance in this situation." With those words, Dumbledore left his portrait in the Headmistress's office, and reappeared in his portrait in Hermione Granger's sitting room.

Thankfully, Hermione was decent and in plain view of Albus's portrait. She was hunched over in her chair, reading by the warm fire. As the light from the flames danced on her face, Albus could see the dark circles beginning to appear around her eyes. "Miss Granger, if you're not too busy, I was wondering if you could help some of the other staff and I?"

Shocked, and unaware of his presence, Hermione jumped out of her skin. "Oh, why yes Headmaster," she said as she barely stifled a yawn.

"Miss Granger, this is probably none of my business, but have you been getting enough sleep lately?" The lines of worry didn't go away with his death, Hermione noticed.

"Well, I just I've been..." She stopped. There was no point in lying to the elder gentleman. Dead or alive, he always knew. "No sir, I haven't. I can't take the nonaddictive sleeping potion, or even the older version. I even tried brewing a weakened Draught of Living Death, but it didn't work. Nothing works. Just, please sir, don't tell the Headmistress. She has enough on her hands."

"I won't tell her, Miss Granger, but you really should see into getting some help. But we can't think about that right now. I'm sorry, but I feel like we have a major crisis on our hands right now. Please, meet me in Filius's room." And with that, Albus popped out.

Flustered, Hermione quickly dashed to her bedroom and grabbed the pair of teaching robes she had worn earlier that day. It certainly wouldn't do for a student to see her in her pink flannel pajama pants and the white wife beater. She gave a half-hearted pat on the head to the old and arthritic Crookshanks, and departed the room with her wand holding her hair up.

By the time Hermione made it to Professor Flitwick's rooms, the others were already in there. As it turns out, the only ones present were Professor Flitwick himself, the Headmistress, Albus and herself. There was a blanket in the middle of his sitting room, covering something quite large. As the small man pulled off the cover, a large stone replica of the triquetra was revealed.

"Professor Flitwick, why do you have a model triquetra in your room?"

Sounding more like Snape than ever, Flitwick snapped. "You idiot girl, this is no model! My goblin ancestors entrusted me with this the first moment I walked into Hogwarts. This is the real fucking triquetra. And it's breaking, dammit."

Sure enough, there were scratches where the iron bars rubbed across each other. McGonagall just stood their with her mouth wide open, not understanding anything. Before Hermione could say anything, however, a loud crack was heard - louder than any apparation crack could be.

At each point of the triquetra, there was each of the Fates.


	5. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer: Shut up.**

**A/N: I did well on my exams. :) And if you hadn't noticed, my chapters are shorter than most you see on FF. But I like to think that I update pretty regularly. I also like scene setting. Uh... **

**Still up for a Beta.**

**Still up for reviewsss.**

**And I hope you enjoy. :)**

**-**

Fate- [n an inevitable and often adverse outcome, condition, or end. I.E. Disaster; especially: Death.

Sir Cadogan, the crazy little painted knight with foolish bravado, had never managed to zip his lips. During the Golden Trio's third year at Hogwarts, everyone thought miniature metal monster would be destroyed by Sirius Black after taking the Fat Lady's place. He survived the ordeals with the Prisoner of Azkaban, but he was no match for the Moirae.

Looking at the shocked expression on the Headmistress's face, Cadogan whipped his fat little pony and charged on shouting "I'll protect you Madam. Get back you horrible beasties, get back!"

"Sir Cadogan," Dumbledore said, beckoning him into his own portrait "could you please lower your voice. We wouldn't want to disrupt the other paintings, or insult our guests."

"You, the one they call Albus. Yes, you are the gifted one. Even if your name is Latin. My sisters and I appreciate your hospitality-" the tallest thing said, before being cut off obnoxiously by Sir Cadogan.

"Hush you brutes! You cannot talk to the great Albus Dumbledore like that!"

Finally, Sir Cadogan had met his match. None of the sisters had even lifted a finger, and he was gone. Cadogan, and his poor little pony had vanished. Hermione, however, couldn't say she was disappointed. Having to put up with the loud, pointless, trivial character for nearly 10 years had certainly taken it's tole on her already limited patience.

"Please madam, if I may. You seem to know my name, but I don't know yours. Or your sisters." Dumbledore said sweetly, showing how respectful he could be.

"I am Lachesis. These are my sisters Clotho and Atropos. We are the daughters of the primordial deity Nyx. We are the-" Once again the one identified as Lachesis was interrupted. This time, it was by an ever-growing impatient and frantic Filius Flitwick.

"Yes, yes. We know who you are. Blah blah blah, the Spinners. Greek goddesses. Yaddah, yaddah, yah. What do you want?"

Professor Flitwick had the wind knocked out of him as he suffered many jabs in between the ribs from a very frightened, very angry Minerva. Hermione, as well, wished she was close enough to hit him and was contemplating hexing him.

"Short man. Shut up. You are lucky the goblins chose you, and you are needed. Otherwise, you would have the same fate as that picture." This time, it was Clotho at the western point that spoke. Hermione joked at the unintentional pun. Atropos, the fattest, and quite possibly ugliest sister of the three noticed her chuckling and instantly pointed a crooked finger.

"You, you're the one with the dream."

Hermione was shocked. She was completely and utterly shocked. How in the world would the goddess know about her dream? Wait, yeah... She was a goddess. And people called Hermione the smartest witch of all time. Hermione tried to speak, to answer the goddesses, but her voice wouldn't come.

"Well girl, are you or aren't you the one with the dream?" The Moirea were growing quite impatient. Hermione kept trying to speak, and still, no sound left her mouth. In fact, all that could be heard was one, or perhaps all, of the sisters muttering about "ungrateful humans."

Afraid, nervous, and eager to please, Hermione tried to think about what to say. Maybe if she occupied herself, she could regain her composure and actually answer the women before her. Hermione, however, couldn't focus on a single thing. Instead, she looked at the hags standing before her. The women were large in stature, and quite intimidating. They looked ancient, and well, they were. Each of the sisters sported frizzy, messy, gray hair. It wasn't the pretty silvery-white hair either.

Large noses and prim mouths donned each of the sisters faces, and they all had condescending faces. Hermione tried to muster her Gryffindor courage and speak up to the Moirae. Instead of being brave, however, she wished she could curl up in the fetal position and suck her thumb. The moment the sisters entered the room, it seemed as if anything positive was sucked out into a vacuum.

It reminded Hermione of Dementors.

"They are our brothers, your 'Dementors'." Atropos was looking at her sternly. "Before Persephone, Hades and Nyx copulated. After learning she couldn't get rid of Persephone, our mother disposed of the Dementors. After all, Hades was ruler of the Underworld and Nyx resides in Olympus, so they just found a place in between the two. Here. Earth."

Finally, mustering everything in her, Hermione finally exploded as the chatterbox she really was. "Wait, there's just one... Okay, a lot of things I don't understand. You are Greek gods. Why does Filius have the triquetra? That's Latin. And the Eye of Ra? That's Egyptian. Hades is the God of the Dead, and muggles have been involved, and wizards, even more gods. I just don't get it." Taking a pause to breathe, Lachesis interrupted her.

"You, short man, tell this girl what the triquetra means. She'll understand everything if she comes to the conclusions on her own."

"Well, it varies from culture to culture," Flitwick started off nervously, "but most believe it to represent the Christian Holy Trinity. The father, son, and holy ghost."

Lachesis looked at the professor, waiting on him to finish his explanation.

"In some models, like the one I have here, the circle surrounding the three points represents the Haven, where important oracles and soothsayers live."

Oracles. Soothsayers. Those who worshiped the Fates were always oracles and soothsayers. "So, the circle represents your followers. And each point represents one of you, and you represent life-" Hermione was slowly catching on. She was still ahead of everyone else present by leaps and bounds. "I still don't understand. I realize now, that everyone is involved, but I'm not sure what we're involved in."

"Eris, our brother," Clotho snorted insincerely at the title "is the God of Strife. He likes to cause problems. My sisters and I know when anything will be born, and when it will die. We even know when Gods and Goddesses will be born, and although they are immortal and we are not permitted to kill them, we do know how to kill the immortal. Life is our reign. All of the gods reign over certain things, but the rules are to never overstep one others territory. We, the Fates, know what will always happen as long as that rule remains in place." Clotho paused, while Hermione thought and absorbed.

"So, why are you telling all of us about this? I mean, you're the Fates. You already know... Unless. Eris. He overstepped the boundaries."

"Not just any boundaries, but our boundaries. He interfered with lives, and caused deaths before their time."

Minerva, this time, asked "But how could he do that?"

"By becoming Tom Marvolo Riddle, who you know as Lord Voldemort."


End file.
